Whether through an increased and welcome awareness of gender politics, or simply the evolution of female narratives in fiction, there’s been a maturation in the modern love story, from the neuro-diverse and unironic bewilderment of Marata’s Convenience Story Woman to the exacting, solipsistic musings of Dolan’s Exciting Times. All have quite rightly earned their place in the canon, yet there will always be an enduring appeal to the more traditional form of love story as presented in Suzanne Ewart’s wonderful debut One Month of You which, distinct from these previous examples, wears its heart unashamedly on its sleeve.
At first glance, the story appears to be heading in the same direction as its contemporaries. Jess, its central character, is a modern, independent woman who has carved out certain rules for life designed to hold her at arm’s reach from the perils of love. So far, so cynical. But what we soon learn is that Jess’s rules have been made not out of a sense of choice so much as a sense of psychological necessity. This is because Jess has inherited the gene for Huntington’s disease, an illness which she has watched devour her mother and which now presents as an ever present time-bomb in her own future. As she gradually witnesses the painful changes that take her mother from ebullient, sharp and fun-loving to a reduced bed-ridden shadow, Jess decides that she must protect both herself and any potential partner, from its cruel and inevitable legacy. When a one-night stand proves to be more affecting than she plans, however, Jess is forced into ever more painful decisions.
Amongst the many impressive elements in this novel, the thing that resonates throughout - perhaps surprisingly - is its celebration of life. The co-players in Jess’s world, the humdrum antics of her office job, and the revisited memories of happier times growing up, spring from the page with a vitality of detail. And it’s in these moments that Ewart so cleverly portrays both the triumphs and the poignant shortness of our universal existence. If it’s a cliche that we never fully appreciate what we have until it’s gone, the success of this novel is in never making it seem like one. Throughout, sentimentality is eschewed for wit and tenderness, as well as Jess’s bloody-minded determination to protect everyone she loves, including herself. The fact that this self-preservation potentially comes at the cost of her happiness in the now is what gives the novel its dramatic thrust with a truly page-turning quality. The simplicity of the prose belies its psychological depth, and whilst her choices along the way often come with teeth-gnashing frustration on behalf of the reader, you never feel manipulated. This is equally true of its secondary characters who are drawn with a flair and roundness sometimes lacking in other stories of this genre and who add to the portrayal of the novel’s thoroughly believable world.
Ewart’s assiduous research into Huntington’s itself is both admirable and yet relayed with a considerable lightness of touch. This allows both a specificity to its details but also a universality that will resonate with anyone who has experienced the decline of a loved one, or who has faced off illness themselves. It is also an interesting and under-reported disease to base her story upon, which offers a considerable education to the reader without ever appearing preachy.
A very worthy winner of the eHarmony Write Your Own Love Story competition, it is clear that Ewart knows her market and her genre intimately, and whilst the denouement of the novel is not entirely a surprise, nor does it ultimately matter. Rather, the journey is all, and what a satisfying journey it is. Emotionally authentic in its rendering, wonderfully controlled in tone, voice and characterisation, this is a deeply moving gulp of a read and a wonderful foray into womens’ fiction at its best. Thoroughly recommended.
My sincere thanks to NetGalley and to the publishers, Trapeze, for providing me with the ARC in return for an unbiased review.